It's late for my one year anniversary of BTTB, but here it is at last. It's the night of the wedding, Syed's POV. One year since I started it, can you believe it :-o
~s~c~
This is bad. Really bad. How in the world did I ever imagine I would be able to do this? She looks beautiful, so beautiful, like the princess I always tell her she is. And even though I rode on the back of a white horse today, I am anything but her prince.
I look away from her, into the darkness, as the taxi drives us to the hotel. At least we're out of that ridiculous carriage now, displayed like the picture of bloody newly wedded bliss. It feels so wrong, so… not me, that it constricts my heart to realise that to her, that's what we are. It's not just the world that looks at us and sees the perfect couple, Amira sees us that way too. Because I let her. I encouraged her to do so. I encouraged myself to do so.
But in the end, I find that I can't. Not even in the abstract sense of how good we look together. I've seen our reflection and admired the picture we make today, a proud groom and his beautiful bride. I recognise it as something that makes sense, is accepted, expected even. But it has nothing to do with me.
And yet here I am. I am that man that just married Amira. Amira, my wife... I am the one that will have to share her bed tonight and share it for the rest of our lives. I understood that reality as an abstract fact, but I find the practice of that theory utterly unbearable. No longer can I think of "One step at a time" as a mantra to get myself through this hellish day. Because I know what the next step will be, has to be. And I can say with absolute certainty, that I cannot take it.
Amira is chattering to our driver. She's gushing about the wedding, the ceremony, the amount of guests, how everyone admired and complimented her, the many presents… I glance at her from the corner of my eye. She looks happy, exhilarated even, and is obviously relishing the chance to talk about her big day. She catches me looking at her and gives me brilliant smile.
'It was fantastic, wasn't it?' she asks me warmly.
'Hmmm,' I reply vaguely.
Apparently it is all that is needed, because she turns back to the chauffeur and starts telling him about our trip to the Maldives tomorrow. I have to hand it to him, he gives her all the attention she wants and that I am unable to give her. I understand that I'll have to deal with this, with her, and soon, but for now I gratefully turn away and sink deeper into my own thoughts.
My thoughts go where they always go given half a chance. To Christian. I've been in love with him for months now, have looked up to him, lusted after him for even longer than that. But today he stole my heart in a way that I will never recover from. And he did it by being strong enough, by loving me enough, to let me go.
I can't help but smile at the bitter irony even as I feel unshed tears sting my eyes. He has given me the opportunity to move on, make a go of this life I've chosen for myself, even though it shattered him to do so. In doing that, he has bound me to him more effectively than ever before. How can I help but admire, worship and love a man who could do that?
I shiver and squeeze my eyes shut in an effort to hold back the tears. My hand has reached without my noticing and is touching the spot on my forehead where he kissed me goodbye. I stop and lower my hand. No time for that. Slowly, I force myself to come back and focus on my wife. She feels my stare and faces me.
'We're almost there,' she says. 'Look, I can already see the hotel. It's impressive isn't it?'
She looks at the sleek, modern white building with admiration.
'Very nice,' I agree.
I clear my throat as I hear how hoarse I sound. She gives me a questioning look, but is quickly distracted by the sight of the luxurious hotel we'll be staying at tonight. It's near Heathrow airport, which is convenient as our flight leaves early tomorrow.
When the taxi pulls up the drive, I dash out to help Amira with her dress. She's still wearing her elaborate wedding dress, which makes getting out of a car without tripping quite tricky. We step into the lobby as the driver helps us with our luggage. The décor is all white marble and red velvet and Amira loves it all. Glad that she's distracted, I go and check us in.
I linger as much as I can. I ask the receptionist lame questions, like whether she is sure the room is non-smoking and if we can count on an early wake-up call so we won't miss our flight. I know Mum has already arranged everything, she's told me so many times, but all I can think to do is stall. The receptionist, Linda according to her nametag, answers them all patiently. All I'm doing is putting off the inevitable, but I can't help it.
In the elevator I "accidentally" press the wrong button, twice. I stop at the wrong door, supposedly only working out after several tries why the door isn't opening. When I try the right door I fumble with the key card, dropping it, holding it upside down or too far away from the sensor, taking at least 5 minutes to actually open it. Amira rolls her eyes at me, but smiles indulgently. I know she thinks I'm nervous, anxious for us to be together for the first time. If only she knew…
As the door swings open, Amira looks at me expectantly. Fuck. She's waiting for me to carry her over the threshold. Compared to what else she's expecting me to do, that shouldn't be a big deal. But even that would feel too… intimate. God, this is going to be impossible, isn't it…
'Come on,' I say instead, holding out my hand to her.
She looks disappointed, but takes my hand nonetheless. Once inside the room, I start loudly admiring its features, the flat screen TV, the huge tub, the king-sized bed, claiming we must make the most of everything as we're only staying the one night. I insist on running her a bath, tell that she should relax and soak in it for at least an hour.
'But Syed, don't you want to join me?' she asks hopefully.
'No, no, don't worry about me! This should be all about you,' I lie smoothly. 'I'll just watch some TV and wait for you to come out'.
Ugh, I disgust myself sometimes. But all I know is that I need to get her away from me for a bit so I can breathe.
'Oh…' she says, looking slightly disappointed. 'Alright. But you'll have to help me out of my dress first'. She smiles coyly and then turns her back so I can help her.
She's right. She'd never have been able to get out of this dress on her own. It has a ridiculous amount of small hooks and tiny buttons and it takes me forever to open them all. While I'm working on the dress, Amira slips out of her shoes and detaches the veil from her hair. I wince as I see how tightly her hair is bound, sure it must be extremely uncomfortable. I marvel at the weight of the dress as I help her step out of it and carefully place it on a chair.
I step back and make myself look at my wife. She's standing before me in nothing but a silk slip dress and stockings. I can admire her beauty in a remote kind of way. I feel detached as I let my eyes slide over her soft curves and now unbound hair. Yes, she's beautiful. This shouldn't be as hard as it is. But the minute I allow myself to step into the moment, to be here in the room with her, to imagine touching her, my stomach turns. I grimace, trying to disguise the look of disgust in a wide yawn.
'Sorry, long day', I apologise.
Obviously not the reaction she was hoping for. Not giving up, she slips her hands down and grips the hem of her silk dress and lifts it over her head in a quick, fluent movement. She looks at me with eyes full of excitement, insecurity and anxious anticipation.
'You're very beautiful,' I say truthfully. And she is. She's wearing silk lingerie, in the same colours as her dress. I feel incredibly guilty because I know I should feel like the luckiest man in the world right now instead of the most miserable one.
She smiles and steps forward and I instinctively recoil. I flush, covering up my embarrassment by stepping past her, into the bathroom.
'I think you're bath is ready,' I call over my shoulder. 'I'll just check the temperature again… Yep, it's lovely. Come on in'.
Amira follows me in and looks at the bath.
'I do love a bath,' she sighs. 'When we get our own place, we simply must get a bath, don't you think? I can't wait!'
'Me too,' I lie, smiling easily. My smile stiffens as she reaches back to unhook her bra.
'Right, I'll leave you to it then,' I mutter, walking out as fast as my feet can carry me. I can hear her try and say something but I quickly close the door behind me. I move away from the door and wait anxiously, watching to see if it'll open again.
It doesn't. When I hear the soft splashing of water, I heave a sigh of relief. I've bought myself some more time. Knowing Amira and the kind of woman she is, she won't come out for at least an hour or so.
I spend that hour pacing restlessly through the room, taking my clothes off, putting them back on only to undress again. I flop onto the bed, on top of the sheets, crawl under them, push them off again. My restlessness is driving me crazy.
I think about Christian, about what he's doing right now. Is he out clubbing, trying to forget about me? Is he in some stranger's bed already, burying himself in a willing body to stop himself thinking about me?
Unable to lay still, my restless thoughts pushing my equally restless body into action, I get up and start pacing yet again. I want to slide open a window but the room is climate-controlled and the bloody windows won't open. I try and steady myself by pressing my cheek against the cool glass, trying to calm myself, still my frantic thoughts.
I jump as I hear the sloshing of water and panic at the thought of Amira coming back into the room. I do the only thing I can think off. I rush to the bed, climb into it wearing nothing but my pants and turn on my side facing away from the bathroom door. My heart races as I listen for sounds coming out of the bathroom.
It takes at least fifteen minutes for her to finally come out. As I hear the door open, I squeeze my eyes shut and force myself to take slow, steady breaths. I can hear her hesitate halfway to the bed.
'Syed…' she calls softly.
I don't respond. I keep completely still and hope and pray that she'll fall for it.
'Syed? Are you asleep?' she asks, her voice edged with a hint of hurt.
A feeling of guilt rushes me. I hear her walk to my side of the bed. My heart speeds up and I have to fight to keep my breathing under control.
'Syed?'
She waits, but when I don't respond, she puts a hand on my shoulder and shakes me softly.
I mumble something, trying to sound sleepy and turn away from her.
'I… Syed, come on, you can't be asleep. Please wake up,' she pleads. He voice is full of hurt now, tinged with anger and disappointment.
I'm sorry, I think. I'm so sorry. But not sorry enough to stop pretending. All I know is that "not yet" is so much better than "right now". So I keep lying there, unmoving, holding my breath as I feel her slip in beside me.
'Night my husband,' she whispers. 'It's alright. We have plenty of time. All of the honeymoon and for the rest of our lives'.
I can hear the soft smile in her voice as she says the words that still my heart. She's right. I can't put this off forever. But I can put it off for now.
~s~c~
I've had such lovely reviews lately *hugs reviews* :-)
But I'm greedy and always want more!
